the beautiful are found in the edge of a room crumpled into spiders and needles and silence and we can never understand why they left,they were so beautiful. they dont make it, the beautiful die young and leave the ugly to their ugly lives.
Charles Bukowskiand even the trees we walked under seemed less than trees and more like everything else.
Charles Bukowskiand our few good times will be rare because we have the critical sense and are not easy to fool with laughter
Charles Bukowski